ok…so… when I was a single gal, living in my 2 up 2 down cottage in a certain part of SE London (The Captain refers to it as “The Getto” to the point where he was afraid to park outside my house in case someone stole his car/hub caps/alloys/dignity), I had NO alarm, no proper locks on my back/front door, no real security, in my house. Hell, I left my car door unlocked and no one ever broke in! ok, it was a Hyundai Accent and really who wants a few crappy R n B cassettes (yep, not even a CD player) and a Pepsi can holder.
And yet, I went to bed every night (ok, albeit with my trustee Hockey stick wedged between a wall and my bedroom door) and slept well. Now… the back of my house had an alley-way to a train (& tram station to East Croydon) station (easy access for any Murderer/thief/good for nothing asshole intent on breaking/ruining some innocent persons life), the front door of my cottage had ONE bolt and a glass front door. that was it. Also, my neighbour (and my housemate can vouch for me on this)… had prostitutes at his house at least 3 nights a week. We know because we listened with a glass to the wall out of sheer amazement….plus I think there was some sort of wierd “Silence of the Lambs” sexual thing going on as he played weird music and we heard screaming. BUT, girls always left his place alive (we checked) so he was just…erm…odd.
Anyhow, thats where I lived. thats what I could afford.
I then moved to a safe apartment block in NW London when I met the Captain. You needed a key or a Caretaker to get in, there were cameras and gates EVERYWHERE. Plus, there was one entrance (after 2 initial glass door security checks (I’m amazed our eye balls and finger prints weren’t taken in hindsight) and we had one back door onto a tiny patio that only James Bond, or possibly Santa Claus, could access. Or, in our case, we had some fabulous party girls (3 Italians) who loved a party right next door (they threw a fab Chav party that we joined after climbing over our balcony at 2am!). One in particular, who I was convinced fancied the Captain, left me a note the day they moved, telling me how she felt about me (proper lesbo stylie). I liked her too and could have been swayed… but, hey, I was involved with the Captain… and he has a massive peenars!
Anyhow…why was i more afraid there? A block with all that security. Any sound in the middle of the night, when I was on my own…. well… lets just say… it scared the freakin crap out of me.
When we moved into our house….well…. it’s not a joke but I had to pay people (our neighbours, who btw holiday very well and I was hoping they would adopt me, were away in Miami… so their Nanny/Help was free). I’m mortified to say, I called her one evening and offered her £35 to sleep over as protection. She literally came over at 10pm, slept and left in the morning. No tea, breakfast, child minding. I paid for peace of mind and in my head… and extra pair of hands if some bastard broke in and hurt my kids.
The Captain couldn’t understand why I was so afraid. The area had security driving around all night. they knew to watch our house. they also knew my brother (a big 5ft 11 arab looking Al Qaeda type looking (not an official dick who believes in that bull shit) was also there to babysit while the Captain got life settled here in Hong Kong. While Captain was away, I moved the twins into my room,, locked our bedroom door (I also had a panic alarm installed by my side of the bed) and every night…I’d be half asleep (one eye open) …. waiting for some bastard to break in and destroy my entire life.
Why the fear? When I was approx 5 years old, my parents were robbed (badly…tied up … the whole works) while we were at schoool. I remember coming home to see my Dad (a real softie with me, but a hardarse in business), crying. They had cut our front door in half to get in, tied both my parents up, taken everything… and then a week later, these filthy dirty stealing bastards rang my Dad to SELL everything back to him, bit by tiny bit. BASTARDS. My parents, who are not into this underworld crap, told them to keep it all. They were afraid for us (these people threatened to come to our schools and take us… and in the 80’s…. they weren’t that great on security at home time). My parents to this day say, “we just wanted them gone” even if it meant losing a lot of sentimental stuff like an old ring given by a great great grandmother that some asshole probably gave to his pikey niece for her 10th birthday.
So, my fear was always there. Dont trust anyone who comes into your home (it turns out, it was someone who had been over a couple of times to give a quote of fitting a kitchen). If they think you have cash in the house (at the time, my Dad ran a Restaurant and brought the takings home every night), you’re fucked. Old Scotland yard (apparently very different to the new one…dont ask me why but I listen to my dad’s tales of the “olden days”), pushed to get these guys. they knew who they were. But as my dad said, “I cant risk them coming into my home again and sawing down my front door, in broad day light. Especially when my Son arrived home minutes later as they ran out.” These idiots also got it so wrong, they broke into the wrong apartment of a newly wed couple and cleaned them out first. Poor gits but … thats life right. I believe in karma. The last I heard, one of the guys that did the robbery was killed in Paris back in 199? during some random “mugging”.
I dont trust any one. Now in Hong Kong, I lock all doors. I double-check all doors are locked. then I re-check all doors are locked. Sooo what happens the first night we have our new Domestic Goddess Helper? She forgot to lock the back door AND our Cousin, who was staying the same evening, pressed the panic alarm in the apartment (thinking it was a light switch….genius). So at 4am…… our apartment had security ringing the door, people going nuts trying to locate who had broken in…and all along (I had opted to sleep on the sofa in our living room (very open plan and you have to pass it for the kitchen, nursery, loo, front door etc) as our cousin was here one night after travelling for weeks. He slept with the Captain (yes, a boy and they are like brothers but I wanted to be near the nursery and as my twin wake a lot, it wasnt really fair on him to be woken all night). Anyhowsle….. this ONE night. Our new helper and our guest both fucked up. Our Cousin pressed the security bell, thinking it was a light switch (I had taken him out earlier for 4 bottles of red wine so you cant really blame him) and our new helper, didnt lock the back door… which, as it turns out, security checks every door in the building, every single night (love that!).
At approx 4am on said evening, as I slept in the middle of our sitting room, door bells going, alarms going off, people in/out….. I slept through the ENTIRE fucking thing. THAT is how tired I must be. I had approx 5 people stood in my lounge, next to the sofa I slept on, discussing who pressed which alarm etc… and I didnt open an eyelid. Did I smoke a spliff? No (for a start… i cant find a bloody dealer in this whole town). Did I take a Valium/sleeping pill/painkiller/something?! Nope. I was just tired because I have TWINS!
This last week…..The Captain (AKA “Love of my Life”) has been away for work.
Do I envisage lap dancing clubs and escorts? Yep. Do I have to trust that not every man is an asshole? Yep (but I have 3 brothers and one works in the “porn/escort” industry). To trust someone you are married to, while they are away on “business” is difficult, if you are married to a complete and utter douche, who cheats, loves big tits (hey, dont they all really?) and basically is soo far away, you wonder if they are calling the concierge for that “special number” to get the “high-class escorts”. It’s very difficult. You never EVER know what your man is really up to. And that IS the truth.
So…. this has been weird. I hate where I am and yet, I made a new friend. Someone “real”. She knows I’m struggling here and she’s openly offering to help me settle in. If I was a lesbo, she’d be no.1 on my hit list. She also knows who she is as she now knows about this column…. damn! I know you are reading this and I need to say a big thank you,, as I’ve felt very alone here, despite all my new “friends”.
The update is this….. The twins had their shots/jabs for 13 months. Not yet MMR but the other ones which still scare the crap outta me, and they both look at me like I betrayed them (BTW…. the Dr was soo hitting on me it was creepy). I then hosted dinner (I’ll put my Recipes on the other page) to a couple of lovely girls I dont know that well BUT….. I did something I would only EVER do if I was at home.
I opened the door drunk (FYI….I’m allergic to Sulphates in white wine…seriously). If you dont know people and you cook allllll day, THEN open a door to your home hammered to strangers,…. well …… etiquette says, be sober. I’m ashamed to say, I was drunk. Drunk drunk drunk. In London, my best friends would have taken over, laughed, and told me off later. Here, it looks rude, sad, desperate, and in my personal opinion…. low. Or now, in hindsight….lonely. I thought I was ok. The shame….. I also took painkillers for a swollen wrist which, now, when I think about it… was a bit of a hit (I actually got a bit fuzzy… & drank white wine… tsk tsk)
I’m tired ALL the time! ALL the time?!?! I mean…. really?! Is this normal? I was a terrible insomniac and yet, when I had Itchy & Scratchy….all I wanna do is sleeeeeeeeep. They make me soo tired all day. Running after them. Feeding them. Bath time, dinner time, fun time, cry time, OMG time….. REALLY!!!!?? My Mum warned me but I thought its because she hated me when i was a teenager and was just trying to scare me. Now…. i’m calling her in a far far FAAAR away place, begging her to come help me. I’m mentally drained. these kids. My twins (who BTW I LOVE)…. are making me sooo tired. Do you remember, all those moons ago, when you would pop to a friends house to see their new baby? After about 1 hour, you were ready to leave because it was all too much? The crying, the feeding, the nappy changing, the exhausted look on your friends faces?! I feel like that ALLLLLLL the time. So…. now… when my Dad calls (I never did give him enough of my time…it was always about Mum), I’m like “Hi! I love you” You’re a fucking Saint for not killing me sooner!”
Also, I’ve found, all the women I’ve met who have kids…. they are trying to be EVERYTHING in the house/flat/studio/room. They all try to cook/clean/look after baby/wake in the middle of the night/go to work/dance on a big toe if required….its bullshit!!! Who is gonna give me my medal after all of this?! I wake up alllllll night when one of the kids wakes. Last night = 1 am, my son, 3am… my son…4am….maybe my daughter (but usually my son) and then 4.40am (ish)….. my son. By 7am…. I was ill with jetlag because I was on South African time (dont ask me how).
FOR NOTHING. He’s not hungry. He has a dummy (& yes, I dont give a flying monkeys what you say, give them the bloody dummy/pacifier if it fucking works). He/she has decided to torture me…. until they hit 80 years old (possibly 90 if the Acai Berry’s work). I can NOT sleep. Now The Captain is away…. boy… after telling this poor git who funds our entire existence here that he’s irrelevant (I was a stupid dick… so shoot me, it was mid argument crap I threw at him for NO reason… he’s a good man)….. I miss my Man. I want him home. I can’t even put my toe on his side of the bed as it doesn’t feel right. I woke this morning and The Captain’s side of the bed looked untouched. What can I say? I’m in love with my husband.
If you are reading this Captain…. I promise I’ll behave! Come home, my life is not a home (ever) if you are not here. Isn’t it wonderful to discover, after 7 years together… that you are actually IN love with the man you married. And I am. I always have been….. even when he pisses me off so much I could…… welll….. I could never harm him, so I guess…. I just withhold sex. Yep… I’m a bitch.
ps. The kids are killing me.
So…this evening, I met someone more bitter than me (can you even imagine that?!) for dinner in a well know Bar in Central Hong Kong. The Captain is very keen for me to make new friends on this weird soulless Island (or “desert”as I now call it) and introduced me to someone he thought I would get on with (although he now swears blind it wasnt her he was talking about). For some reason anyone who is remotely “ethnic” is someone i may get on with because I’m one of those people who marks the “other” box for the “Ethnic Origin” surveys.
Now, im not sure, but until today, I realised…. he doesn’t know who I really am! i mean, i go to dinner with The Captain, his client and his clients wife and I ended up meeting someone soo fucking depressed, cold, down on Hong Kong (& her husband who she kept belittling throughout the entire meal that I almost stabbed her with my chopstick).
I looked at The Captain at the end of the evening and i said….“why in the fucking world did you think i would be friends with her?!?” Does my husband know me at all? Really? I’m actually brilliant fucking fun … and I’m not just saying that!! I’m even quite funny, despite fucking swearing a shit load.
On a positive, I may be going back to the UK in the summer for a catch up/booze up with everyone and to escape Hong Kong during the incredibly humid months (which I’ve not yet experienced).
An additional positive is that I am actually starting to enjoy it here. I’ve met some lovely girls (some who are just as fucking nuts as me, some who aren’t) and its all going ok. My 13 month old twin daughter started walking last week too…. so…. I kinda feel like a fucking genius on her behalf. My son is still eating his feet though…. but the window licking, I’m proud to say, ended months ago.